


no revival

by arysa13



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Christmas, F/M, New Planet, Pining, Season/Series 06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 20:04:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16919490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arysa13/pseuds/arysa13
Summary: Clarke and Bellamy experience Christmas for the first time on the new planet.





	no revival

There’s a herb garden just on the outskirts of the township that Clarke often finds herself pondering in. It’s huge, actually. They share everything here. Sure, everyone has their own little cabins, but necessities and luxuries alike are shared. The workload is shared. These people seem to have it all figured out.

Russell had brought her to the herb garden the second day they’d met. It was his quiet place, he said. They’re surrounded by acres and acres of forest, but he finds solitude in the herb garden. Somehow Clarke adopted his love for it. It’s far enough away to be quiet, but not so far that Madi can’t come and get her if she needs her.

The stupid thing is, she doesn’t even really _want_ solitude. She wants to be with her friends. To talk and laugh with them, and feel _surrounded_. But it seems no matter how many people surround her these days, she always feels alone.

They all say they’ve forgiven her. And she’s done her best to show them that she still cares, that she never _stopped_ caring. But there’s this distance between them now that she doesn’t know how to fix. She doesn’t know if it’s because deep down they still resent her, or if six years of separation just takes its toll on a relationship. She feels like an outsider, no matter how hard she tries.

Clarke envies the way Madi fits in seamlessly with these people Clarke used to know everything about. It’s like Madi has known them her whole life. And they all love her as much as she loves them. Clarke doesn’t blame them. Madi is easy to love. Clarke is—not.

The only person more of an outcast with the people Clarke used to call her friends, is Octavia. But Octavia finds company in those who still hold some kind of regard for her after their time in the bunker, Niylah being one of them. But Clarke doesn’t really have anyone like that, other than Madi, and maybe Jordan. And though Clarke and her mom are trying to make up for the six years they spent apart, Abby is still recovering and Clarke doesn’t want to burden her with her loneliness.

Clarke finds Russell in the herb garden now, picking at a rosemary bush. Most of the plants are ones they’d transplanted from Earth, but she suspects there are a few that are native to Miror Terram. She’s never bothered to ask Russell. She doesn’t actually care about herbs in the slightest.

“Clarke,” Russell nods when as she approaches, straightening up. Clarke gives him a half smile, no teeth. “How are you this morning?”

“I’m okay,” she shrugs, hands in the back pockets of the black pants she’s wearing. She never tells Russell she’s _good_. He seems to always know when she’s lying. But she never tells him she’s bad either. Always just _okay._

She’s not sure what it is about him, but she’s drawn to him. Perhaps it’s because his piercing blue eyes remind her of her father, who was ripped from her life too soon. Or maybe it’s just Russell’s easy-going nature and his lack of judgement. Maybe it’s because he has no preconceptions about her. He doesn’t know the things she’s done.

Still, even if she enjoys his company and likes listening to him tell her about the world they’ve built here on Miror Terram, she doesn’t completely trust him. She finds it hard to trust anyone these days. But she’s trying.

She joins Russell by the rosemary, absently plucking off a sprig and holding the fragrant leaves to her nose.

“What’s Madi up to?” Russell asks.

“Bellamy, Echo, and Jordan took her to the river to go swimming. I think some of the others were going as well.”

“You didn’t want to join them?”

Clarke shrugs, dropping the sprig of rosemary to the ground. “They didn’t invite me.”

“They probably assumed you knew it was an open invitation,” Russell says, ever the reasonable one. That used to be her job.

“Maybe.”

She hears distant voices coming from the forest nearby and looks towards the source of the sound. Russell turns, following her gaze. Clarke watches as four men emerge from the woods, with what looks to be a huge pine tree hoisted on their shoulders. She frowns in confusion.

“What are they doing?” she asks Russell, as the men carry the tree towards the township.

“They would be starting the Christmas decorating,” Russell tells her. Clarke turns her head towards him, his explanation only leaving her more confused.

“Christmas?” she repeats dumbly.

“Yeah,” Russell chuckles. “You know what Christmas is, right?”

“Of course,” Clarke says, rolling her eyes. They’d learnt about Christmas on the Ark, briefly. It was an old Earth tradition, not something they celebrated on the Ark, although Clarke knows there were some people who still acknowledged the day. Her family wasn’t one of them. As far as she’s aware, it was a religious celebration, and if there’s anything she knows with any certainty, it’s that there is no God.

“So you guys are all Christians then?” Clarke asks.

Russell gives a snort of laughter. “Not by a long shot. We just like an excuse to celebrate. We decorate, give each other gifts. That kind of thing. You’ve never celebrated Christmas?”

Clarke shakes her head. “No.”

“You’re in for a treat then. We have a gathering on Christmas Eve. It’s beautiful, you’ll love it,” Russell tells her. “We’ll have music, lights. Mistletoe.”

“A party, you mean,” Clarke says.

“Yeah, a party. You could use one.”

Clarke doesn’t know if she agrees with him, but she doesn’t disagree either, and she supposes the party will happen with or without her, so she may as well attend.

“Okay,” she says. “It could be fun.”

 

-

 

According to Russell, it’s tradition for everyone in the town to make an ornament for the tree. Clarke takes Madi to the recreation hall one afternoon, where people are gathered, creating their own little decorations to hang on the tree. Some people carve things out of wood, some people sew or knit or weave. There are plenty of materials for everyone to use.

“Clarke, Madi!” Jordan calls, waving them over to where he’s sitting at the end of a long table, winding flowers together. Madi skips over, and Clarke follows, giving polite smiles to the people she vaguely recognises. Clarke slides onto the bench across from Jordan, while Madi makes him scoot up so she can sit next to him.

“I decided flowers was the way to go,” Jordan says. “Since I have no idea how to sew or knit or… carve.”

There’s a wooden box in front of him on the table, full of a variety of flowers, most of which Clarke has never seen before.

“Won’t the flowers die before Christmas?” Clarke asks.

“Russell says they’ll just dry out and that they’ll still look pretty,” Jordan shrugs.

“I’m going to do flowers too,” Madi decides. “Can I share your flowers?”

“Sure,” Jordan slides the box down the table so Madi can reach. Clarke on the other hand, turns her attention to the bench at the front of the room, where the rest of the supplies are located. Her eyes fall on a stack of yellowish paper, set beside some jars of paint and a few paintbrushes. That’s much more her style.

Madi and Jordan are preoccupied by their floral arrangements, so Clarke gets up and makes her way to the supply bench, picking up a piece of paper and studying the different paints. She takes three with her, and a thin paintbrush, and a block of wood to use as a pallet, before returning to her spot at the table.

She’s much more used to charcoal drawings, but it’s nice to be able to use some colour, and soon she’s lost in her art, her surroundings fading into nothing as she focuses on the scene she’s painting. She doesn’t look up until Madi’s voice startles her out of her trance.

“Bellamy!” Madi yells across the room. Clarke freezes, her hand tightening around the paintbrush. She has to take a moment to catch her breath before she glances over her shoulder. Sure enough, Bellamy has just entered the room with Echo, and they’re making their way over now. Clarke’s heart stutters at the sight of him, and then her eyes fall to his hand, clutched in Echo’s, and she feels sick to her stomach. Clarke wonders how long it’s going to take for her to be able to look at him without aching.

Bellamy and Echo reach the table, and Clarke slides along the bench to give them room to sit, should they want it. Bellamy offers her a smile as he slides in next to her. Of all the people who say they’ve forgiven her, Bellamy is the only one she feels like she can believe. She thinks, maybe, if it could just be the two of them, even for just an hour, she might start to feel at peace again, finally.

But despite his kindness towards her, his willingness to try and include her in everything, even after what she did to him, she can’t seem to be alone in the same room as him. Not since they touched down on Miror Terram. She’s afraid of what she feels for him. She wants to tell him everything. How he’s the only thing that kept her going when she was feeling really alone. How she called him every day. How she never stopped thinking about him, caring about him. But to say the words out loud might kill her.

Sometimes, when she’s lying awake at night, she lets herself imagine what it could be like if Echo wasn’t here. Similar fantasies to what she had when she was without him on Earth. Being able to hold him, wrap herself up in him, press her lips against his skin. It didn’t feel so impossible, back on Earth. She’s sure he loved her once. She’s closer to him now, in inches, but they’ve never been more distant.

She feels her face burn at the thought of her ridiculous fantasies now, and she swallows her aching heart back down her throat and into her hollow chest. She manages a small smile to return his, but she can’t help but notice he leaves a considerable gap between them. No chance of an accidental brush of hands or knees. It’s probably for the best. Clarke isn’t sure her heart could take it.

“What are we making?” Bellamy asks Madi and Jordan.

“Flower wreaths,” Madi tells him, showing him her creation proudly.

“Alright, who’s going to show me how to make one?” Bellamy asks.

Madi offers eagerly, and Bellamy moves to the other side of the table to be next to her. Clarke’s painting lies forgotten as she watches Bellamy with Madi as she shows him how to weave the flowers together, her heart full of love for the both of them. A small smile even teases the corners of her lips.

She can feel eyes on her, and she glances to her left to see Echo watching her, a knife in one hand and a small block of wood in the other. The smile drops from Clarke’s face and she averts her eyes, returning to her painting. It’s an imagining of what Christmas might have looked like on Earth, from the stories she’s been told, both on the Ark and by the people in this town.

“It’s nice,” Echo tells her. Clarke looks back to her.

“Thanks,” she responds. She knows Echo is probably trying to extend some offer of friendship, for Bellamy’s sake. But Clarke knows Echo will never actually forgive her for leaving Bellamy to die. Clarke knows this, because she won’t forgive herself either. It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t want Echo’s friendship anyway.

 

-

 

On the night of the Christmas party, Russell knocks on the door of Clarke’s cabin, while she and Madi are getting ready to go. Madi has made the two of them matching crowns made of holly. The leaves prick her head if she moves it too fast, but she’s wearing it, since Madi went to all the trouble. Her blonde hair has grown out a little since she last cut it, and she twirls it into a bun at the back of her head.

“Come in!” Clarke calls, though Madi is already halfway to the door. Russell swings the door open, walking inside the cabin, carrying a heavy looking chest.

“What’s that?” Madi asks.

“I brought you guys something to wear to the party,” Russell grins. He sets the chest down on the table. He himself is wearing a moss green suit with a red tie.

“You look fancy,” Clarke tells him. “Where did you even get a suit like that?”

“I made it myself,” Russell tells her. “Christmas colours.” He unlatches the chest and opens it. Clarke and Madi watch him as he pulls a soft woollen dress from the chest, a similar colour to his own suit, with short sleeves and a full skirt. He holds it up for a moment before handing it to Madi. “For you,” he tells her.

“Wow,” Madi breathes, her eyes bright with awe. “I love it.”

Clarke is sure Madi has never worn a dress in her life, but that doesn’t stop the girl from running into the bedroom to put her new present on.

While Madi is gone, Russell pulls another dress from the chest. Red this time. Not bright like his tie, but a deep, dark red. It looks much more delicate that the dress he’d given Madi. “And this one is for you,” he tells Clarke.

Clarke gazes at it, reaching out to run her fingers over the silky material. “Did you make these too?” Clarke asks him.

“No,” he shakes his head. “Someone else made them, years ago. They were in the apparel warehouse, so someone must have grown out of them, or decided they didn’t want them anymore.”

Clarke nods, taking the dress from him. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Nonsense,” he says. “I didn’t want you to feel underdressed.”

Madi re-enters the room in her green dress, spinning so it flares out around her.

“Beautiful,” Russell tells her. He looks back to Clarke. “I’ll let you finished get ready. See you at the party!”

Madi finishes braiding her own her while Clarke goes into the bedroom to get changed. She peels the black articles of clothing from her body and steps into the dress, not wanting to risk it getting caught on the holly in her hair.

The dress clings to her, like most clothes do, but somehow it feels light and freeing. Yet the thin material and low neckline make her feel exposed and vulnerable as well. The deep red colour contrasts against her pale skin, and she thinks she probably looks ridiculous in it. Especially with the heavy boots she’s got on. She doesn’t really have any other footwear though. Then again, the party is taking place outside, on the grass. She probably doesn’t even need shoes. She pulls off her boots, and then before she can change her mind and put her old clothes back on, she steps back out to the other room where Madi is waiting.

“Wow,” Madi says. “You look amazing, Clarke.”

“Thanks, Madi,” Clarke says, trying not to show her discomfort. “So do you.”

“I bet other people will think you look amazing too. Like—”

“That’s enough, Madi,” Clarke cuts her off. Madi closes her mouth tightly. Clarke sighs. She knows it’s not Madi’s fault that she wants Clarke and Bellamy to be together. Clarke spent six years telling her stories that probably made it sound like they were some epic love story, riddled with tragedy and heartache, but ultimately fated to end up together. But even if Clarke had believed that at the time, she doesn’t now. And Madi needs to let it go too.

That doesn’t stop Clarke from finishing Madi’s sentence in her head. _Like Bellamy_. Like maybe he’ll see her in this dress and he’ll forget all about Echo. Clarke almost snorts out loud at the ridiculous notion. She needs to get a grip.

“Let’s go,” Clarke says, ushering Madi out the door.

They see the tree first, towering above the rest of the town. Lights twinkle around it, and everybody’s handmade ornaments hand from the branches. Clarke and Madi walk towards it, joining the other groups of people heading towards the party. Clarke is relieved to see that everyone is dressed up, and that she won’t look out of place.

As they walk towards the tree, the buildings fall away until they reach the grassed clearing where the party is being held, the Christmas tree marking the centre. Wooden posts have been erected around the field, string lights joining them, and sprigs of what Clarke can only assume is mistletoe hang from them. A song about it being the most wonderful time of the year is playing. Clarke can’t help it. Her eyes light up and her face cracks into an awed smile. It’s _magical._

She glances at Madi, whose face is also lighted with wonder.

“Christmas is _awesome_ ,” Madi breathes. She spots some kids her own age then, that she’s been hanging out with lately, and Clarke brushes off the concern Madi has for leaving her alone with a “I’ll be fine, Madi. Have fun.” And then Madi is running off to join her new friends.

Clarke feels a thin arm wrap around her shoulder, and she glances to her right to see her mother standing next to her, Kane by her side. Clarke is surprised to see even Diyoza is with them, carrying her brand new baby girl.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Abby says.

“Sure is,” Clarke agrees. She looks to Diyoza. “I didn’t expect you to be here tonight.”

“I didn’t want to miss out,” Diyoza says. “I’ll take her home soon.”

Clarke nods, and the three of them leave her, mingling in with the growing crowd. It seems like everyone in town is here tonight. Clarke searches the faces of people around her, looking for someone she knows. She can’t see Russell anywhere, but she can see Raven, Shaw, Murphy and Emori standing by a post chatting. Clarke approaches them, not even sure she’ll be welcome.

“Hey,” she says, slotting herself in between Shaw and Emori. “You guys look great.”

“I know,” Raven grins, tilting her head smugly. Clarke doesn’t miss Murphy’s eye roll, and she suppresses a small laugh.

“This is pretty cool, right?” Clarke continues, gesturing to the tree behind her.

“We were just saying that for a bunch of cynics, this party has us feeling weirdly moved,” Raven replies.

It’s that moment that Jordan sticks his head into their circle, grinning widely. “You guys know there’s alcohol at this party, right?” he says, before running off, presumably in the direction of the alcohol.

“He really is Monty’s son,” Murphy snorts.

“I think if we follow him, we might find the booze,” says Shaw, nodding in the direction Jordan had run off in.

“What are we even waiting for?” Raven says. She grabs Shaw’s hand, and they head off after Jordan, Murphy and Emori right behind them. Clarke can’t decide whether to follow or not. Perhaps they’re pretending to be excited about alcohol as an excuse to get away from her.

Before she can decide, her eyes fall on Bellamy, slowly walking towards her. Her heart beats faster with every step closer. Clarke looks around for Echo but finds her nowhere in sight. She can’t remember the last time she saw him without her.

“Hey,” Bellamy says when he reaches her.

“Hey,” Clarke replies. She clasps her hands together so they stop shaking. She’s used to the beard now, but she still finds herself wishing he’d shave it off. She misses his dimples and his strong jaw. Still, he looks as dashing as ever, in a dark suit and a white shirt. He’s wearing a tie and everything. It’s not fair that he looks like that. It’s pure torture.

He’s standing close. Too close. Clarke doesn’t even realise she’s retreated a little until she finds herself backed against one of the wooden posts. The thorny leaves of the holly crown dig into her scalp for a moment.

“Ow,” she mutters.

“You okay?” Bellamy asks. Clarke’s stomach swoops from his gentle concern for her, even for something so trivial.

“Yeah,” she tells him. She gestures to her crown. “Beauty is pain,” she jokes.

Bellamy smiles wryly. “Some party, huh?”

“It sure is something,” Clarke agrees. Bellamy looks over his shoulder, and Clarke wonders if he’s looking for Echo. The thought digs into her heart just as the holly had pricked her head.

“Maybe we should get a drink,” Bellamy suggests, and Clarke is sent hurtling through time, reminded of the last time he asked her to get a drink with him. How different would things be if she’d taken him up on his offer?

“No, I’m okay,” Clarke swallows. She thinks Bellamy might leave her side to go and get a drink anyway, but he stays.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I might get one later.”

“No, I mean, are you alright?”

Is she alright? No, not really. Not in the slightest. Her heart aches from being close to him, from conjuring up memories and fantasies alike, from thinking about what could have been. Her throat is tight and her stomach churns and her skin is covered in goosebumps.

“I’m really fine,” she assures him. He doesn’t seem convinced, but she’s saved from further interrogation by Russell showing up.

“Are you kids having a good time?” he asks.

“Absolutely,” Bellamy says.

“It’s beautiful,” says Clarke.

Russell smirks, and Clarke can’t figure out why he’s looking so mischievous, until he looks up and says, “You two know where you’re standing, right?”

Clarke and Bellamy both follow his gaze upward, tilting their heads back to see a little sprig of white flowers hanging directly above them. Clarke’s stomach drops.

“Mistletoe,” Russell muses. “You know what that means.”

Bellamy looks a little confused, but Clarke knows _exactly_ what mistletoe is supposed to represent at Christmas.

“If you get caught under the mistletoe with someone, you have to kiss them,” Russell grins.

Clarke watches Bellamy out of the corner of her eye. His face is a little red, and from the heat in her cheeks, Clarke thinks hers might be the same. She can’t tell if he’s horrified at the notion of kissing her, or just surprised by Russell’s suggestion.

“No, Russell, I don’t think—” Bellamy starts, and Clarke is relieved. She doesn’t want to be the only one refusing the rules of mistletoe. Though the thought of kissing Bellamy sets her every nerve on fire, she can’t let herself give in to that, no matter how much she wants it.

“Don’t be such a spoil sport, Bellamy,” Russell interrupts him. “Give the girl a kiss.”

“I have a girlfriend,” Bellamy reminds Russell.

“Really, Russell, I don’t want—”

“Come on! It’s Christmas. It’s tradition. Live a little!” Russell coaxes.

Bellamy glances at Clarke, and she swears her heart stops. She can’t move, or speak. Her throat constricts and her heart starts beating again at twice it’s usual rate as Bellamy moves a little closer. His eyes don’t leave hers as he leans towards her, until his lips are an inch from hers, and his eyelids flutter shut, and Clarke can feel his breath on her lips. It’s too much. It’s unbearable.

She brings her hand up and presses it against his chest, pushing it away, tears already forming in the corners of her eyes. She wants to kiss him so much, yearns for it. But not like this. Before either Russell or Bellamy can see her cry, she gathers her dress in her fist and pushes past them, and through the rest of the crowd. She runs from the party and back through town, and she doesn’t stop until she’s safely back inside her cabin.

She presses herself against the door, and a wrecked sounding sob is ripped from her throat as the tears start to fall. She fists her hand around the holly crown and tears it from her head, the leaves spiking her hand as she throws it to the floor. She barely notices.

How could he do that to her? To try and kiss her because some stupid plant said they had to. She can’t kiss him and have it mean _nothing_. That would ruin her.

She feels ridiculous in her borrowed dress now, and she wants to rip it off, but she’s conscious that the dress will have to be returned in the morning. It’s not hers to rip.

There’s a knock at the door and Clarke quickly stifles her sobs and wipes her eyes. It’s probably Russell, wondering why she freaked out at the thought of being kissed. He doesn’t know that she hasn’t been kissed in over a hundred and thirty years. That Bellamy is the one man she desperately wants to kiss, but never can. She suspects Russell knows she has some kind of feelings for Bellamy. Everyone else seems to. But how could she ever explain to Russell what Bellamy truly means to her?

“Just a second,” Clarke calls, and her voice still sounds wet with tears.

“Clarke.”

Clarke freezes. Bellamy deep voice comes through the door, pleading and sorry. She hates the way he says her name. Hates it because she loves it, because no one says it the way he does, like there’s a million other meanings behind it. Like he’s saying everything he can’t say, that he won’t say, that she wants him to say.

“Go away, Bellamy,” Clarke says, her voice shaking.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “Please, let me in.”

It occurs to her that he’s alone. That _they’re_ alone, truly alone for the first time since Jordan first woke them up from cryo. It’s probably a bad idea, but she straightens, turns around and opens the door, standing aside so he can come inside. Clarke shuts the door, and she gives herself a moment to collect herself before she turns to face him.

“Clarke,” he says again, and her insides clench. She drops her eyes to the floor. “I really am sorry. I shouldn’t have—it was stupid. There’s no excuse.”

“It’s fine,” Clarke says shortly. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it does,” he says. Clarke looks up at him. He licks his lips.

“You’re right,” she whispers. “It does matter. How _could_ you?” Bellamy flinches. “Don’t you know how much—” she cuts herself off. She’s not going to do this now. She’s upset, but it doesn’t mean she needs to go confessing all her deepest feelings to him.

“How much what?” Clarke just shakes her head. Bellamy groans in frustration, rubbing at his face. “Of course I don’t know,” he says. “How would I know anything? You never talk to me.”

Clarke gapes at him. “ _I_ never talk to _you_? Bellamy, you don’t spend a second away from Echo, how am I supposed to talk to you?”

“Then tell me now. Whatever you want to say to me, say it.”

Clarke clams up.

“Clarke.”

“Don’t. Don’t say my name like that.”

“Tell me how you feel for once,” Bellamy begs her.

She shakes her head. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“How can I?” Clarke says hopelessly, the despair she’d pushed down earlier bubbling to the surface again, threatening to spill out. “How can I tell you that it hurts to look at you? That I waited for you for six years? That I thought about you every night, that I still do?”

“Clarke—”

“You know I called you every single day on the radio just to stay sane?”

“I know.”

Clarke blinks at him. “You _know_?”

Bellamy looks a little sheepish. “Madi told me.”

“When?”

“On Earth. Right before we left.”

Clarke swallows. He knew. He’s known for months and he didn’t say anything about it. “How could you not tell me you knew?” she asks, quiet.

“Because, Clarke!” Bellamy bursts. “Don’t you think I feel the same way? I can’t talk about it—I can’t even _think_ about it! About how I thought you were dead. That it took me years to get over you. And then as soon as I saw you—hell, as soon as I fucking heard your _name_ , I realised I never did at all.”

There’s a beat as Clarke processes this.

“Then why are you with her?” she says. Her words shock even herself. Yet Bellamy doesn’t seem surprised. He just looks pained.

“Because she can’t hurt me.”

Silence fills the air, the tension between them thick and palpable. Clarke is sure she’s never felt so awful in her life. The guilt threatens to swallow her whole.

“Bellamy,” Clarke whispers. “If—if you’d known I was alive. Would you have waited?”

Bellamy looks at her, tears welling in his eyes now. “You know the answer to that.”

Clarke sobs at that, and her tears start to fall again. She wishes she could stop. She doesn’t want him to hold her, and comfort her, but at the same time she does. In a second his arms are around her and she’s crying into his shoulder, and she thinks he’s crying too.

“I wish—” she sobs. “I wish everything was different.”

“Me too,” Bellamy whispers.

She cries in his arms for the better part of an hour. She cries until she aches, her chest is empty and there are no tears left inside of her. Finally, reluctantly, she pulls away from him. She wipes her eyes, stepping back, putting the distance back between them. Putting the wall back up between them.

“You should get back to the party,” Clarke tells him. “Echo will be wondering where you are.”

Bellamy nods, brushing past her to get to the door. “Goodnight, Clarke,” he says as he leaves.

Clarke walks into the bedroom, and lets the red dress fall from her shoulders and pool at her feet. She puts on her pyjamas and crawls into bed. She doesn’t cry again, she doesn’t think she has it in her. She feels empty. She gets it now. There’s no going back. He’s not going to leave Echo for her. It’s over. There’s no chance for them. And now it’s time to start trying—really trying—to get over him. And maybe one day she’ll be able to look at him and just see her best friend, and not the love of her life that she lost over and over and over.

**Author's Note:**

> you can follow me on tumblr @arysafics


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